


Sick To The Stomach

by lamefryes



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Hiding a relationship is hard, Jack is a hot professor, M/M, Other, Really learn to wear a scarf, Rhys is a shy student, Slow To Update, Smut, Update tags as I go, Was looking through rhack photos and bam this, gay is okay, rhack - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 23:50:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11345700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamefryes/pseuds/lamefryes
Summary: Jack has no problem admitting he's fucking a student. Rhys, however,  prefers not to be stared at by his rather petty peers.Shit happens.





	1. Lollipop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys wins gold at bed burrito-ing.

"Just a few more documents, babe."

Rhys sighs, dangling Jack's mask from his fingers. He studies it; smooth, pliable. Enough to allow basic functions. Rhys wasn't sure how a mask drew less attention than a scar, but he wasn't one to speak. People had scars- it was fine.

He draws a line across it with his index finger, where Jack's scar would be. It's not the same. The fact that Jack couldn't even go outside without it broke his heart. On the other hand, Rhys knows that he can't change how Jack feels, no matter how hard he tries. Jack is stubborn. He's just happy Jack trusts him enough to take it off around him, to let Rhys play with it and look at it with wonder and curiosity. It's like a child with a new toy. 

Everyone knew Jack anyway. On the other side Rhys supposes that Jack could ask why he wore long sleeves so often, or what the point was to wearing both gloves on a cold day, considering he has a friggin' robot arm. It isn't that Rhys is ashamed- it's pretty cool. Sometimes Rhys just wonders what it would be like if he still had all human parts instead of a robotic arm and eye, a USB port in his skull.

Then again, there are also aliens and small, raging psychos existing, so nothing was really surprising anymore anyway. Normal? Rhys knows of no such thing.

"Booorrreedd," Rhys drags out every syllable in a whine that's almost pitiful. He sets the mask down on the bedside table. He's lying on his back in Jack's soft bed, legs crossed and propped on the headboard, a pillow proudly displaying a pattern of the Hyperion 'H' supporting his head.

Rhys instead focuses his attention on Jack's real face, which he much preferred to a mask. Sometimes, if he was gentle about it and had Jack in the right mood, Jack would let Rhys touch his scar. It was a thick, smooth line. The edges were ragged but still just as soft. And even after all this time, the damaged skin stayed an angry pinkish-purple, instead of fading into a soft silvery-white like the rest of the scars that claimed his skin. Jack didn't want Rhys to look at it as awesome or cool, and more than once Rhys has had to promise, "It's just another part of you, Jack. I love it just like I love everything else about you."

Rhys really did love every part of him, too. The way his hair was so messy in the mornings. Rhys would play with it and Jack would complain about him messing his hair up but never actually stop him. How he always smelled nice and never complained about Rhys taking his clothes. Jack couldn't fit into Rhys' clothes, but even now, Rhys was nestled into Jack's soft, yellow Hyperion sweater that he'd came home in last night. It was a little too big- the sleeves kept going even after his fingertips stopped. Rhys didn't care, and it left Jack without a shirt on and something for Rhys to look at, so it was a win in his eyes.

His eyebrows were furrowed as he expertly scanned through the papers in his hand, leaning his back against the headboard, his legs crossed under the blanket. One arm was wrapped around Rhys' legs, devoting its time to caressing Rhys' thigh, tracing fading dark marks and faint bites leading further up. It gave Rhys butterflies thinking about it, despite having been with Jack for quite some time. 

Jack wanted to show Rhys off- Rhys refused, afraid of unwanted attention. Everyone knew Jack. He had fans. It made Rhys uncomfortable seeing students, even other professors approach Jack on campus, trying to strike up a conversation. Though Rhys knew it made Jack uncomfortable too, he couldn't help but wonder whether or not he secretly enjoyed the attention. He was *the* Handsome Jack, you know. Rhys preferred not having the rage and drama of a bunch of upset fanpeople following him from class to class. So they kept it a secret, despite whatever suspicions others might have.

Rhys was drawn out of his wandering thoughts as Jack's light, wandering fingertips trace around a particularly tender bruise. Rhys shudders without thinking.

Jack turns to look at Rhys, whose eyes are scrunched tight. Maybe in embarrassment, maybe to keep from saying something he doesn't want Jack to hear. In reality, Rhys wants to tell him, "Do that again."

Jack releases an exasperated breath, dramatically putting the papers down. "However can I grade papers," he jokes, "if this horny bastard never lets me?" Jack crawls out of the blanket and over to his boyfriend, where he slowly straddles Rhys.

It reignites the giddy feeling swirling in his stomach. Rhys opens his eyes. Now that Jack is hovering right above him, he can see the small, purple 'decorations' scattered lazily about Jack's collarbone. Rhys feels heat against his cheeks and his hands itch to touch them. He curiously wonders that if he touched them like Jack did, would he react in the same manner?

"I call it the lack of willpower," Rhys' voice catches in his throat instead. No matter how he tried, he always felt helpless against Jack, not that it was a bad thing. Every touch felt new, every hug and kiss emitted a strike of electricity and he never grew tired. The first time Jack had touched Rhys had changed him. He'd become insatiable, and Jack often made it his duty to point it out and use it to his advantage. 

Jack had no issue keeping up-or far surpassing Rhys' appetite, for that matter. 

Jack chuckles, nuzzling his nose against the crevice between Rhys' neck and shoulder. The scruff on Jack's jaw scratches his skin, but he doesn't mind. Rhys would tell him he needs to shave, but he's already having trouble keeping his thoughts straight- forming a coherent sentence might be out of question.

Jack snuggles closer, pressing his chest to Rhys' and bringing his arms close. "So help me," Jack whispers against the crook of his neck, "the persistent shit-dick strikes again."

"Oh my God," Rhys' voice is shaking, unstable because of Jack practically laying on him but he brings his arms up to hold Jack anyway, who's freakishly warm against him. "You love my dick."

"Mm," Jack lifts his head and touches his nose to Rhys'. He pretends to think, like it's even an actual question. He lightly bumps their foreheads together.

If Rhys wasn't already pitifully melting in Jack's arms, he totally would've whispered 'boop'.

"That is information I cannot rightfully disclose," Jack smiles brick brightly.

They break into laughter. Rhys loves it when Jack smiles, he loves everything about it. A face that goddamn handsome has no place being so serious all the goddamn time. 

In fact, Jack has no right to do a lot of the things he does to Rhys, intentional or otherwise. The way his heart thrums in his chest and it feels like a heart attack, or when his breath catches and halts and he feels like he understands what asthma feels like, and it's all without his permission. It's so terribly unfair, and Rhys can only hope that he makes Jack feel the same way. Jack has always had an incredible reserve of confidence and resolve, and he'd hardly if ever seen it waver. He's far too good at picking and choosing what emotions he allows to be read and yet Rhys can't bring himself to care all that much. Jack could probably play Rhys as much as he liked, and though he knows that Jack is far too kind to do that to him, he can almost certainly assure that he would let Jack do it regardless. Rhys loved Jack. What could he do? 

"How rude," Rhys manages as their laughter slowly ebbs. His hands run across Jack's spine, dotting the points where he can feel each vertebrae rise against his skin. He feels weirdly proud when it's Jack's turn to shudder- though Rhys isn't sure if it's because his touch or probably that his robotic arm is just cold.

"Okay, okay," Jack concedes. "I admit that your d-game is pretty great." 

Rhys snorts, and receives a playful nudge in return.

Jack tugs at the hem of Rhys' sweater. Rhys gives him a questioning glance. "I want to hear better." Jack holds Rhys up as he tugs it over his head, throwing it halfheartedly across the room, laughing when Rhys' teeth chatter at the sudden chill.  
Jack places his head on Rhys' bare chest. "See, this is better." He listens for a moment, comforted by the gentle, even lull of Rhys' heartbeat. The sound of him breathing, the buzz of blood flowing beneath his flesh, it reasurred Jack. Rhys was here, he was alive, it was all real and he was happy. Jack had gone through obviously rough things and having Rhys was more assurance than he honestly deserved. "Your heartbeat sounds amazing."

Rhys smiles, eyes squinting at the warm intensity of emotion Jack brought him. He brings Jack up, coercing him closer until they were face to face. Rhys props himself on his elbows, earning a curious gaze. He leans forward, kissing each dark bruise that smattered Jack's neck from the night before. "You're the amazing one, you handsome douchebag," Rhys whispers against his flesh, one hand grazing up the side of his ribs.

Jack shivers again this time, making a frustrated expression- he felt control slipping through his fingers, useless as trying to catch water. This was entirely new, unfair, and Jack didn't like it.

Rhys smiles, because this time he knew Jack wasn't acting because of the cold. 

Since when did Rhys become the one in control? 

Rhys grins. "That was frickin' hilarious. Especially 'cause I'm even on the bottom right now."

"Don't push your limits, Rhysie, baby," Jack sighs. He doesn't know where this feeling originated from- but it makes him uncomfortable. He'd always been in control. He'd seen Rhys loose control countless times during...activities. He'd seemed flustered afterwards but in the moment he'd enjoyed it. Jack enjoyed watching that. But to loose it even momentarily- especially over something so small as to Rhys' touch, was strangely shocking. 

"I like pushing limits, *cupcake*," Rhys grins. He knows that's Jack's nickname for him. He also knows that he liked seeing Jack react involuntarily.

Jack was unsure of how to cope. Following his first instinct, he straightens himself, the soft, light atmosphere draining from the room. Instead, it fills with tension, dread. 

Rhys' chest feels full- he might've had his moment, but he gets the feeling that he could not stand up to Jack's anger, his agression. It was imbedded within his very personality. 

"I'm not the submissive type, pumpkin," Jack takes Rhys' wrists in his hands. His grip is tight enough to bruise, but it's what Rhys liked. Despite that little blip of dominance, the anxious flipping of his stomach, the question of what Jack was going to do, it was enough to remind him that this was definitely what he preferred. Rhys knew Jack was like an unstable shotgun- he went off at the strangest things and times- perhaps it was his past that allowed him to transform from sweet to dark-eyes-and-brooding within a spare minute. 

"You win," Rhys utters. 

Jack proceeds to free Rhys' hands, the real one tingling at the return of blood flow. Instead of pinning Rhys, Jack leans down to kiss across his jaw. Rhys wants to give in. Instead, he glances at the clock and whistles. "You sure you want to start this?" 

Jack looks up from his canvas, already guaranteeing new art to replace the old. Rhys observes the blooming red momentarily. Jack works quickly. He gives Rhys a look that almost scares him.

"Really, Rhys?"

Rhys shrugs sheepishly."Twenty minutes until your first class, is all I'm saying." 

Jack bares his teeth.

"Not that I want you to go or anything," Rhys breathes, craning his head back and baring his neck to Jack, utterly vulnerable. "For Christ's sake, please don't."

"I need a helluva lot more time than that, knowing you," Jack rolls his eyes and continues letting his lips roam. 

Rhys runs a hand through his own hair, smoothing stray tangles. He's shaking again, and he doesn't know why he submits himself to such a man. Its absolute torture.

"May the Lord have mercy on my soul."

Rhys can feel Jack smirk against his throat. "You don't deserve my mercy, princess."


	2. Cherry Chapstick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys has a death wish. Karma's a total bitch.

Rhys wakes up to a beautiful sight. 

Jack is rustling through the drawers of their dark oak dresser, effectively capturing Rhys' attention, who shuffles his way out of the large blanket covering him. As Jack turns, Rhys can't help but whistle comically. He's wearing dark jeans that fit far too well. 

He gives Rhys a cocky smile. "Dumbass, you got a problem?"

Rhys gestures to the gray dress shirt in Jack's grasp, shrugging. "I mean, yeah. You really gotta put that on?" He smiles, joking, but perhaps a bit remorseful, as any sane person would be, if they had Jack too.  
"You're incredibly selfish," Jack points out. He slowly walks over to Rhys' side of the bed, where he runs his hands through his boyfriend's hair. It's incredibly soft, longer than Jack somehow remembered. "Look, you...distracted me," he cocks his head to one side, bringing his shoulders up, "like, all of yesterday. The entire day. You never tire."

"Neither do you, and you know it," Rhys whines, like he’s a puppy who’d been kicked. He grabs Jack's hands, pulling them into his own and away from his hair. In one tug, he's down on Rhys' level and it's all fair game.

At least he thought, but it isn't. Jack nips at Rhys’ lips teasingly, a warning in the undertones, before swatting his hands away and pushing himself up. “No dice, sweetcheeks.” 

Jack smiles as Rhys pouts, picking up his shirt and putting it on. Rhys sighs in defeat, dragging his fingers across an itch on his jaw, frowning at the stubble that’s far better on Jack’s face, before stretching and standing. Sure, Rhys had a habit of playing dirty, but he sure as hell didn't feel guilty, because could you really blame the guy?

Jack retreats to a safe distance, refusing to fall for any of Rhys’ antics. “Mm, look, Rhys. I have a job I’d like to keep. Don’t make me punish you.”

“I don’t feel like that’s a bad thing,” Rhys retorts. He jumps out of bed, Jack’s lips having left an ample amount of enthusiasm -and hunger- in his veins. Perhaps if he’s quick, he could shower before Jack left to prepare for his classes. Usually, Jack would rouse a sleepy Rhys from bed, coaxing him into the shower they’d share together. Ever the responsible one (and quite a bit better at waking up than his partner), he’d prepare a quick and easy breakfast while Rhys was still waking up and dressing himself. Today, however, Jack must’ve let Rhys sleep in. Perhaps his body needed it- but the stronger half of himself denied that. He could keep going, had not their daily lives interfered. Stupid school, stupid jobs, stupid life in general.

Rhys was disappearing into their bathroom just as Jack fixed his nice black tie under his collar. “Try to hurry for me, yeah?” Rhys can feel Jack’s smile even from behind the walls. Jack chuckles sweetly. “Sleepyhead.”  
Rhys scoffs in reply to the man, not bothering to shut the door as he turns on the shower and waits for the gentle steam to rise. He tries to heed Jack’s request, however, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the hot water. While warm water usually tried to drag him back to dreamland, it was hot enough to jerk him wide awake. He scrubs his hair, perhaps taking a little too much joy in the fact that he was using Jack’s shampoo. It smelled utterly him, and even that was enough for goosebumps to erupt from his skin. God, Rhys just could not get enough of this guy. It was almost pitiful that he was still taking guilty pleasure in using his boyfriend’s stuff; shampoo, body wash, wearing his shirts and grinning every time he got away with it. It seemed like the perfect crime. Even the word ‘boyfriend’ still tasted so sweet in his mouth, and he enjoyed every moment that it danced on that tongue. He chuckles about the topic of tongues, and whispers quietly to himself, “Don’t even get me started.”   
Rhys was done sooner than he’d liked, but for the sake of pleasing Jack, abandoned his little daydream.   
Rhys was drying off, shaking his hair like a dog when he realized the neatly folded clothes on the sink. Fuck, what is this life? Rhys knew, and he knew damn well, that Jack was normally a badass who regularly threatened the lives of people. Though Rhys had calmed his fiery attitude and bad habits quite a lot since he’d first been in the picture, Jack was still capable of picking up where he’d left off with no hesitation whatsoever. And somehow, that same man was thoughtfully feeding him, setting out his clothes and making Rhys’ life just that much easier. And goddamn if his feelings weren’t just as hard hitting and dangerous as they’d been in the beginning.  
Rhys’ fingertips brush the soft material of a shirt, and he picks it up. It’s Jack’s, given over willingly. He’s amazed at just how much softer everything seems when it belongs to the person you love. It brushes over his damp hair as he immediately puts it on, one of Jack’s more casual t-shirts. It’s loose, of course, Jack being both a lot taller and broader than Rhys. A chuckle escapes his lips at the name of a vague band and he mindlessly dresses in the rest of his clothes.   
Just as he’s buttoning his pants, temptingly strong arms slither under Rhys’ own and grip his wrists with just enough force to catch his breath in his throat. A small whimper of surprise- well, mostly surprise, slips out of his lips and Jack’s rough cheek brushes over the back of his neck, still damp from his hair. “Hey, slowpoke,” Jack drawls, low and amused. “Just kidding. Let me help you with that, baby.”  
Jack’s hands release Rhys’ wrists, only to flatten across his stomach and drift lower. Rhys is silent, biting his lip in anticipation. Is Jack just teasing, playing with Rhys to get him all needy right before class as some sort of sick payback?  
Yes, he is. Jack buttons Rhys’ jeans and withdraws quickly, too quickly, and a displeased sigh leaves Rhys. Jack walks away, a quiet laugh drifting down the hall. “Breakfast is on the table. Hurry your ass up before I leave you.”  
Oh, it was on. Rhys sneers at the hallway, towards Jack’s back. He could play dirty too, and Jack wouldn’t even know what hit him.

\---

 

Jack, finally, is droning on in class. Rhys isn’t listening, of course- when you’re fucking your professor, you don’t need to worry about grades. There’s been more than one time when Rhys had gotten surprisingly pissed at Jack for bringing up subjects he’d been failing at in bed, however.

“So, I’ve noticed you’re not really up to speed with this week's topic, Rhys. Do you need help with that?”  
Rhys blushes bright red. Currently on his knees, with his face pressed harshly into the pillows, Rhys struggles against the fingers tightly gripping his hair. “Do you REALLY think this is the time to talk about my grades?!”   
“I don’t see why not,” Jack is grinning like he’d won the lottery, and currently, he sure felt like it. Rhys’ soft hair tangled in his fingers, he pulls the boy’s head back so he can see the expression on his face.  
Rhys whines, incredulous. “You’re drilling me from behind, you prick!”   
Sharp pain radiates across his body as Jack smacks his ass, harder than usual. Rhys swears under his breath.   
“Wrong answer, baby,” Rhys’ skin is soft, delicious, as he digs his fingers into his hips. He’s being rough, too rough, but that’s okay.  
“Alright, alright!” Rhys concedes, trembling. “Yes, Jack, I promise I’ll get my grades up. I’m sorry.”  
Jack releases Rhys’ hair, opting instead to run his hands across Rhys’ stomach now as he pets him softly. “Good boy.”

Instead, Rhys is silently plotting his damn revenge. And Rhys deserves a hell of a lot of revenge. And doesn’t jealousy just make the best form of revenge? The answer is yes. Damn right it does. 

“Soo,” Vaughn nudges Rhys out of his thoughts. “You still won’t tell me why you moved out, man. And you’re new place, why haven’t you invited me over?”

Rhys offers his best friend a soft smile. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, “I’m just respecting the dude’s privacy. He doesn’t like anyone over.”

Vaughn frowns. “Are you...dating him, or something?”

With his opportunity in sight, Rhys gingerly lays his hand on Vaughn’s shoulder and squeezes. Just loud enough to reach Jack’s ears, he shakes his head. “Oh, I am definitely not dating anyone, Vaughn.” Rhys winks at the short man in the seat beside him, who chokes on the coffee he clutches between his hands. Rhys felt a little guilty for teasing Vaughn- he knew he had a bit of a bro-crush on Rhys, but he’d make it up to Vaughn. Right now, he was worried about making Jack as furious as possible. He certainly wasn’t the first person to ever use this tactic, god no. 

Rhys can hear the sharp exhale from Jack’s nose, as he cocks his head in Rhys’ direction.

It only makes Rhys smile harder as he ignores his boyfriend’s intent eyes. Vaughn wipes coffee from his lips and pushes the sleeves of his dark green hoodie up to his elbows. He sits, awkward and silent, and it’s all the more encouraging. 

Rhys places his hand on Vaughn’s wrist, continuing to squeeze and pet gently up his arm. Vaughn is wide-eyed by now, resembling a doe, and it’s all Rhys has not to grin like all those evil villains who own creepy cats. “Oh, c’mon, Vaughn, if you miss me so much, why don’t I come over tonight? Just you and me.”

Pressed against the back of his seat, tense and sweating, Vaughn opens his mouth to answer. However, only a wispy wheeze reveals itself.

Up on the podium, though, Jack is clenching his fists. He’s stopped the lecture by now, and is ripping at the dead pieces of his cuticles. There’s an awkward, curious murmur in the crowd of students. What the hell is going on?

Rhys bites his lip. What’s a little risk gonna harm? He slowly slides his hand down to grip Vaughn’s inner thigh. A squeal comes from Vaughn, who jumps in surprise and disbelief. His eyes dart from Rhys’ hand then back to his eyes, and fuck, it’s good. Rhys could even admit, Vaughn’s silent submission was even actually turning him on, and how would Jack feel about that?

Rhys smiles and leans in. “Come on, Vaughn. Whaddya say?” Rhys’ creeping hand starts to get dangerously close to a certain something that was reacting quite positively to Rhys’ advances. “Some alone time, show you what I can do for you.”

Jack’s shoulders a heaving from his rapid breathing. The sharp teeth that he’d had over nearly every single part of his body were now barred in anger. The class continues to murmur about why Jack’s stopped and is now suddenly a rabid dog in the middle of the period.

Rhys’ hand brushes over just the right spot on Vaughn’s jeans and he doubles over, his own hand slapping over Rhys’ as if to say ‘keep that right there’. Vaughn groans in surprise, loud enough to draw the attention of multiple students. Rhys just chuckles.

A thud, loud enough to make every single student in the room jump sounds when Jack’s fist connects with the hard wood podium. “Enough!” He roars, the deep growl in his voice more than just murderous. 

Vaughn tenses up in fear, reluctantly shoving Rhys’ hand away and near huddling into his chair. 

Rhys releases a soft breath. In all truthfulness, Rhys might not mind Jack and Vaughn at the same time, and he might just tell Jack that.

Jack’s strong hands reach Rhys and he doesn’t even question how Jack crossed the room so fast. One grips him by the jaw, the other finds its residence curled in the back of his shirt. “Oh shit,” he laughs, the pure cockiness dripping in his words as Jack forcibly rips Rhys from his seat. Vaughn mirrors Rhys, but a hell of a lot more frightened, like a kid worried his mom found him with his hand in the cookie jar. “OH my SHIT!”

Jack has stopped talking now, sufficing for purely animalistic growling.

Rhys begins to laugh like a madman, everyone whipping their heads his way to watch as Jack viciously drags him from the room.

Jack drags his straight for this floor’s staff bathroom, opening it with one hand still clutching Rhys’ throat, and then throwing him in.

Rhys groans, but continues to laugh at Jack’s anger. For christ’s sake, every time he got like this, oh, it turned Rhys on so bad. He’d practically be down at Jack’s zipper and begging, and Rhys wasn’t entirely sure that that wasn’t how it’d go down right now. He did know he was getting just a little too excited. Jack locks the door, throwing his keys to a barren corner. He’s still snarling at Rhys, and soon he’s got him pinned to the wall by the throat again. 

“What. In the hell. Do you think you’re doing. Hm?”

Rhys smiles, struggling against Jack’s grasp. “You mean to say you didn’t like that, baby? You didn’t like seeing me put my hands all over another man’s pants?”

“You shut your fucking mouth, Rhys,” Jack’s hands are digging into his throat so hard he can't breath. He starts to get just barely dizzy- but all he can do is keep his mouth shut. Jack meant business. A no nickname business.

“I- fuck, what were you thinking?” Jack shakes his head, pressing his entire body forcefully into Rhys. 

“I was thinking,” Rhys coughs, “You, me, him, sandwich.”

“Fuck you!” Jack slams Rhys back into the tile. “Wrong. Answer.”

Rhys may have taken this too far. Jack would definitely make sure he paid for this- not later, but right now, and that sounded like a damn fine plan. 

If Rhys planned on responding, it was cut off by the hand digging into his throat. He paws at Jack’s hands, rather weakly and unenthusiastically, however. Oh, sure, his brain might not be digging the lack of blood flow to his head, sure, but he was getting plenty of blood to other regions of his body. Part of Rhys was definitely ashamed of himself. He wasn’t quite sure what had gotten into him, and he’d find a way to make it up, but right now he was focused on what he might just salvage into an enjoyable situation.

Jack drops Rhys, who slides to the bathroom floor with an excited gasp. He’s still so damn content with himself. Stupidly happy with what he’s done. Jack paces the small space angrily, scratching hard enough at the back of his neck to leave welts. That should’ve been Rhys’ job. “I can’t even- Jesus fuck, Rhys. You’re so, you’re so smug! You know just how much that pisses me off..”

“I’m pretty sure I have a solution for that.”

Jack’s eyes sprout lasers. Well, it feels that way, at least. “Rhys, you can’t act like a fucking immature little shit every time I don’t miss work to fuck your brains out.”

“Oh, no,” Rhys’ voice is raspy, low. “I just wanted payback, honestly, mostly for all the times you’ve made me recite my notes during sex. That was rude.”

Jack shoots him more death glares, as if to say, ‘that’s so goddamn differen’t. He’s clenching his fists, and Rhys knows he’s either about to hit him, out pin him against the wall and fuck him.

“Also for teasing me right before class, Jack. The whole pants thing. It was savage.”

“I never fucking felt someone up right in front of you.”

Rhys shrugs, smiling. “Probably because I might just get off on that.”

Jack shakes his head, and on instinct turns for the doorknob. I don’t want to hurt you, Rhys, and you’re just asking me to be extra rough.

Rhys however, has legs just as long, and is at Jack’s side within a split second. “C’mon. It’s just so fun when you’re angry. You’re extra rough,” Rhys says, a gentle smile on his face. He’s taking the words straight out of Jack’s fucking head. Jack can still see lingering satisfaction, though, ready to return the minute Jack gave in. It was relatively tempting. Some part of Jack just knew he needed to make it publicly clear that Rhys had one of the most bloodthirsty bastards sharing his bed, and then anyone else should fuck off. It was under no circumstances considered fair for Rhys to ‘tease’ him so harshly like that and yet not have given Jack the satisfaction of claiming him in front of everyone. He was probably just going to do it soon, anyway. Next time he does something, anything of this nature, Jack would just grab the kid and choke him out in class. He’d kiss him the entire way through though.

A harsh exhale from Jack. He smacks Rhys’ hand away from it’s gentle place on his bicep. Stormy eyes and furrowed brows, it’s the picture perfect description of ‘conflict’, and he’s threatening Rhys gutturally as he picks the other man up, with little issue and once again he’s pressing Rhys against that same wall but with much softer hands. “Look, sweetheart,” Jack presses his thumb into the other’s jaw, tilting his head back and to the side. He mouths his way up Rhys’ throat, soft in the lips but rough in the teeth. “I know how Vaughn feels towards you, baby, but I also know he wasn’t at blame here.” He stops, teeth grazing Rhys’ adam’s apple. Jack presses his smile into his throat at Rhys’ shuddering, his stretched out silence and anticipation. “I’m also going to tell you that I’ll kill him if your little ideas give him some of his own.”

Rhys swallows against Jack’s terrible, terrible mouth. Nipping and sucking, and Jesus he wouldn’t be able to go out of this bathroom without looking like a wreck. And that was okay. Just not the Vaughn dying part. “You wouldn’t touch him, Jack.”

He shrugs, pushing his leg up between Rhys’ thigh and slowly pressing their foreheads together. Their eyes meet, eyes that any artist would be insane not to want to paint. Brown and full of bliss. Mismatched, however, still simmering with anger and the desire to just put that damn boy in his place. Maybe. Maybe not.

Slowly, Jack slots his lips against Rhys’ own, who softly exhales, finally given what he thought was overdue payment. The lips he’d known for what seems like forever now, are still just as soft to Jack as he takes his time to dart the tip of his tongue out to taste them. He’s breaking away and laughing before he knows it, placing himself against the crook of Rhys’ neck.

“What is it?” Rhys asks, perplexed and kneading at Jack’s chest to regain his attention, hands roaming and feeling until they creep under that very gray shirt he’d watched him put on this morning to continue their work.

“Hah…oh man, Rhysie, cherry?”

Rhys rolls his eyes. The edge of his mouth twitches and he fights a grin. "What? A man can't protect against chapped lips?"

"That isn't the problem," Jack says, the glint in his eye all too terrifying as he smiles. Sharp teeth that Rhys didn't mind occasionally piercing his flesh. "You're just a walking cliche." 

Jack is done talking, said with a finality that has Rhys' heart thudding in anticipation. Striking quickly, Jack's mouth is on Rhys’ neck and his hand is slithering down to his pants. Rhys whines with the force of which Jack unbuttons his pants. Teeth on his jugular forces a yelp through Rhys’ lips, reminding him that Jack would always be the one holding the reins, even if Rhys was fond of tugging on them.

Rhys’ pants are slowly working their way down past his thighs but he can't bring himself to care because really, they should be entirely off by now. Rhys also can't bring himself to do anything other than freeze because right now there's a punishing mouth everywhere but his lips and a cruel hand anywhere but where he wants it most. 

Jack drags his fingertips ever so lightly across Rhys’ dick and yet he never seems to keep it there, always returning to the inside of his thighs or perhaps darting up to his stomach.  
Rhys shivers at the touch, his hand tentatively reaching for Jack's.

Jack smacks Rhys’ hands away. 

Rhys frowns, wordless with labored breathing and reaches out for Jack's shirt because it just wasn't right that he was still dressed and if he couldn’t touch then he should at at least have the prettiest view.

Suddenly, Jack has Rhys’ hands in his own and his slamming him against the tile hard enough it stings. Rhys gasps at the burn in his shoulder; Jack is tearing into it in a silent warning. 

When Jack looks up from the other man's littered skin, his lips are rimmed with red, eyes dark.

Rhys near moans at the sight of him like that, the lord knew it was beautiful. But when he looks over at his shoulder, his eyes widen at the mess Jack had made.

Jack grips Rhys’ chin, cocking his head and looking deep into his eyes. 

Rhys waits anxiously with bated breath. Oh, this man would be the death of him. Rhys might just be ready to die by those means. 

Lips smash too hard on his own, fingers digging into the fresh stubble on his jaw and Jack is smearing that lovely red between their mouths. Jack is undeniably getting off on Rhys’ own blood and that in itself makes Jack's leg, very very clothed leg between his thighs just that much more unbearable. Jack's tongue is forced harshly into Rhys’ mouth as he forces the man to taste his own blood, mingling it with the vague taste of coffee and mint.

Rhys cries out as Jack bends to clean the rest of the blood, only serving to further smear it on his mouth. Rhys knew Jack like blood. Sure, violence was great and all, but the sight of Rhys’ had him pitching a goddamn tent.

Scrunching his eyes together, Rhys hopes that maybe if he doesn't see it it'll have less of the effect on the too excited party going on down low.

“Keep them open,” Jack commands.  
Rhys peels his eyes open. Jack’s taken on the smug look now, and he’s so pleased to have Rhys as his bitch. He should probably tell him that, maybe.

“Good job, good boy.”

Rhys’ cheeks flush at the obvious- and successful attempt to dig under his skin. He bristles, waiting for the next move.

Jack releases him with a cocky grin, instead deciding to effortlessly unbuckle his belt.  
One second he's watching Jack's pants- fitted unfairly well, might he add- slid down to his knees and the next Jack has his hair knotted into his fingers. He grips the thick strands too tight for Rhys’ liking, but Jack likes it, which ironically makes him enjoy it even more. Tears bud at the corner of his eyes. Jack's eyes are burning into his and he can only wait for his next move with bated breath.

Jack flashes his teeth, whether it be a smile or a warning wasn’t sure, before yanking Rhys down on his knees. The same hazy eyes. The same, delicious mouth already half open on instinct. Jack had trained him well. Jack feels him staring at his mouth, then back down at his cock and boy does he enjoy it. It’s a little circle of torture, where they get off on each other, which happen to be the best kind of cycles.

Jack flicks his wrist and pulls Rhys’ head back. His jaw drops completely open and without much warning, Jack is forcing himself into Rhys’ mouth.

Jack inhales sharply, groaning at how he makes Rhys take him all the way, his nose brushing against the soft hair residing there. Rhys begins to blink rapidly, more tears filling his eyes until they threaten to spill. Rhys however, holds his pose rather than risk Jack's anger.  
Jack finally releases his throbbing grip on Rhys’ hair, who, with final permission, lets Jack pop out of his mouth with a splutter. Jack grins as he gasps for his breath, how he looks eagerly into Jack's eyes. Rhys’ own scream of how badly he wants Jack to continue shoving him around, forcing him to do whatever he pleased. 

Jack pets Rhys’ hair gently, easing the kid’s mouth back onto him with low praises and coaxing. Jack lets Rhys clutch his thighs as Rhys knows damn well how hard Jack would punish him if he even thought about letting his hands venture to himself. It was tempting though, like an itch that needed to be scratched so bad you were twitching and jumping around.

Rhys slides his hand up under Jack's shirt, sliding his fingernails over a hard stomach. It’s a risk that Jack might claw into him or choke him again. More like a reward, but whatever.

Jack's skin is claimed by goosebumps, his jaw slacking open to emit a pleased growl. It was quite the sight. Everything about Rhys was messy, from his hair to the way he moved his red mouth to the mess of precum Rhys’ was making on his stomach, which made Jack want to laugh more than it should have.

Jack groans, running his nails lightly across Rhys’ scalp. “Come on, sweetie, these things are called quickies for a reason.”

Rhys is trembling with effort, and it’s even...cute, one might say, how focused he is on breathing through his nose and ignoring the ache in his jaw. He doesn’t even have to take his mouth off of Jack for him to know what his eyes are pleading: Please, Jack, please.

“Jesus Christ, Rhys,” Jack exhales sharply, hips beginning to quiver and jerk as he wills himself to just hurry up and finish already, wondering if Rhys was hoping for the same thing.

It’s not too long before his wish is fulfilled, though, as Rhys releases a moan of his own, sending vibrations that seem to travel throughout his body. Jack doubles over, managing only a raspy “Fuck,” as Rhys’ fingernails dig deliciously into him.

Jack pulls Rhys’ head away, who sputters and coughs, breathless and choked. He stands abruptly, leaving Rhys to whine at him as he wipes the sticky substance from his mouth. 

Rhys is dismayed as he's forced to watch Jack, smiling coyly, clean himself with a paper towel from the dispenser before fixing his pants. Incredulous, Rhys refuses to believe that Jack would get him all riled up with no place to go.  
Offering Rhys a mockingly sympathetic look, he squats down to his level, another paper towel in hand. He uses it to dab at the corner of his puffy lips, shaking his head at Rhys all spilt over the bathroom floor, cock throbbing but speechless in betrayal. “Missed a spot,” he says, taunting his boyfriend.

Quickly, Jack pecks Rhys’ cheek, hot to the touch. “We'll discuss your punishment at home, sweetheart,” Jack stands, wiggling his fingers. “Toodles.”

To be fair, it was really funny to leave Rhys hanging, and even funnier to see the faces Jack got when returning to class- without Rhys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, you probably thought this was a one shot... but it isn't. I haven't quite edited it as thoroughly as I'd like, but... you know. I swear to God the story isn't all porn without plot, though. Bear with me and my bullshit, please?


End file.
